


The Space Between

by Tishbing



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Fem!Watson - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tishbing/pseuds/Tishbing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's death, Joan Watson was just trying to move on in her life but when she finds out she's pregnant with Sherlock's child, things change. Mycroft takes an interest that may be more than his promise of watching out for Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Golden sunlight filtered through the window and a chill permeated the flat causing Joan to shiver into wakefulness. Sitting up, she could see her alarm wasn't set to go off for another hour but she knew that sleep wasn't going to be coming again even though she was tired. 

Her therapist had said it was depression...survivor's guilt...broken heart. The list of her reasonings for Joan's abysmal sleep were rising but Joan didn't believe them. She didn't want to. Perhaps she was still stuck in the denial stage of her grief. She just felt...empty. Each day since Sherlock's death was the same. Get up, go to work, come home, sleep, wash, rinse and repeat. 

Her body felt the same. Empty and broken. Food was impossible to keep down and she was just tired all the time. Greg had taken to forcing her to go out again. He said that staying in the flat was dragging her down and the sad part was that he was right but she couldn't bring herself to pick up and leave just yet. All she had left was the memory of their last night together and this place. 

If she closed her eyes she could still feel the phantom touch of Sherlock's hands on her, smell his aftershave as he loomed over her and see his stormy grey eyes as he entered her and stormy was the right word. There were so many emotions swirling in his eyes at that moment that Joan had been overwhelmed with the intensity of it. She had wanted to show Sherlock just how much she loved him and believed in him even after Kitty Riley's exposé about Richard Brooke. 

Joan had been terrified that Sherlock might have thought that she believed the reporter's elaborate lies but he surprised her. It had been a needy, desperate and, now that she looked back on it, bittersweet night of lovemaking. It had been slow and perfect in every way. Exactly what they both had needed. Joan now knows that Sherlock had to have deduced Moriarty's plan. That he was going to have to die and maybe it had been his way of showing how much he loved Joan without saying it. Maybe it had been a way to give her a happier memory of him other than seeing him jump off of that fucking roof at St. Bart's and see his broken body haunting her dreams. Whatever it had been, it had been amazing and it had hurt. 

Slipping out of bed, Joan slowly got ready for the day. The ever present nausea a companion as she forced down dry toast on her way out the door. 

The community clinic was her main focus these days. She was about to see her next patient when an email came up on her screen. A check-up. Sarah had been taking an interest in her health since she had come back and had been harassing her about it. "Sick doctors can't treat sick patients" had been her motto and Joan had agreed to keep her off her back. It seemed she was collecting on her promise. 

It was another hour before Joan found herself on the other side of the white coat as a patient. Sarah walked in with a carefully neutral expression on her face and a slip of paper. For the first time in two months Joan felt something. Fear. 

"What?" Joan laughed nervously.

Sarah sat on the rolling stool. "When was the last time you had a menstrual cycle?" 

Joan laughed, relief flowing through her. "Oh my god! You had me bloody terrified! I'm on the Depoprevara shot. I don't have a cycle." 

Joan stood and grabbed her clothes from the chair next to the exam table when Sarah's next words stopped her cold. "You missed your last dose, Joan. Remember? You were caught up in a case and forgot."

Her heels slipped from numb fingers as Sarah's insinuation slipped through the fog clouding her mind. She just stood still as the other woman came up behind her and handed her the urinalysis report stating positive on the pregnancy test.

"During your pelvic exam, I could feel that you're probably about eight to ten weeks." 

Sarah's words continued. A buzz started to fill her ears. Panic and fear were first to come through. She couldn't do this. It was hard enough just living without him let alone having his child! She never thought that in her 30 years of life that she would be one of those women who considered termination but it was first on her list. Moving on would be impossible. To see a child with Sherlock's eyes or hair or face looking back at her would be too much.

Joan realized Sarah was still talking about maternity leave and support, oblivious that Joan wasn't listening to a word. She pulled on her skirt and top, slipping on her shoes while Sarah was still talking! Sarah handed Joan a prescription for prenatal vitamins and it was that that had Joan jerked from her stupor.

"I never had this exam, Sarah. I'm going to need a few days off." She swept out of the room before Sarah could answer and bumped into the new nurse that Sarah had hired.

"Congratulations, Doctor Watson! I took the liberty of making you an appointment at..." 

"You made a mistake, Mary. My test results were mixed up with another patient's." Joan snapped and Mary's face morphed into confusion. A frown marring her features. 

"No." She shook her head slowly and Joan wanted to shake her. Never had she believed Sherlock's appraisal of idiotic people before today. Mary wasn't taking the hint. "No. I don't think so, Doctor. There has only been men and an elderly lady in today."

"Nurse Morstan. You. Were. Mistaken. Cancel the appointment and clear my schedule for the week." She said it slowly to emphasize her point. Joan was grateful that the woman seemed to understand and meekly left. 

Grabbing her messenger bag, Joan left the office and started the walk to the tube station. It was on the walk that Joan cursed Sherlock. She was mad. It was like a final twist of the knife that had been lodged in her heart since his death. Her eyes burned as she fought off tears and started looking up clinics on her phone. She pressed the call button and her signal dropped. She tried again and it failed.

"Goddamn bloody piece of shit phone!" Tears were falling down her cheeks as she tried again when she saw a black Audi slide up next to her. She really did not want to deal with this.

She kept walking, ignoring the car and trying again, only to have her phone turn off completely. She knew it was Mycroft's doing and shoved the phone in her pocket. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. She swung towards the car with a frustrated huff, tension tightening her muscles.

"Piss off, Mycroft." Joan hissed at the car before the window could roll down and stormed off down the pavement. She knew she couldn't evade him forever but she could try. She came up to an alley and was about to cross it when the car pulled in front, blocking her path. 

The tinted window rolled down and Mycroft's face came into view. Joan was beyond pissed. 

"You shouldn't be walking long distances in your condition, Doctor Watson." He said it so calmly, so matter of fact that Joan wanted to punch him. Out of the corner of her eye she could see two men in suits nearby, hovering. Of course he had known, the bastard.

Joan smiled, a twisted, cold smile that had sent many an intern scrambling. "What? My high arches? I know high-heels can be a bitch but I'm fine. Thanks for your concern." She said acidly.

Mycroft's lips twitched in amusement. "Don't play dumb with me, Joan. It doesn't suit you. Get in the car."

"My mother always told me to not get into cars with strange men." She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and started to walk around the car.

"Don't make me ask again, Doctor." 

The implied threat only strengthened as the two men in suits closed in on her. Joan stopped, closing her eyes in frustration. The sound of a car door opening and a hand on her elbow gently guiding her into the car. She opened her eyes when she felt the car move.

"What do you want?" 

Up close, Mycroft looked as tired as her. His face was pale, stress lines surrounded his eyes and mouth and he looked like he'd lost weight. She still blamed him for Sherlock's death and she knew he blamed himself as well if his appearance was any indication.

"Start any wars?" She said abruptly.

Mycroft chuckled, relaxing slightly. "Not today but I hear congratulations are in order." 

Joan really understood Sherlock's dislike of his brother. Mycroft looked Joan over with assessing eyes, taking in every detail. His gaze stopping briefly on her abdomen before sliding up to her eyes. She could see him cataloging every minuscule detail about her appearance. 

"It's not what you think. It's not his." She lied and Mycroft raised an eyebrow in intrigue. Lying to the Holmes brothers never worked. Mycroft shook his head slowly. 

"I know that it is, in fact, Sherlock's progeny." 

The temptation to punch him was overwhelming.

"I know that my dear brother was the only man you have been intimate with in the past six months." 

It was growing harder to resist. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do I even want to know how you know this?" 

"Probably not." 

"I'm not keeping it. I..." She looked out the window as her eyes burned from tears threatening again. "I can't handle this right now."

The ride was silent for a minute while Joan composed herself. "And anyway, didn't you say that sentiment was for the weak?" 

"Choosing life is never for the weak. I believe you're letting your emotions cloud your judgement. What do you believe Sherlock would want?" 

Joan's head snapped around. "Thanks to your epic screw-up, I'll never know." 

Hurt and guilt flashed through Mycroft's blue eyes but it was quickly gone. "Take until Monday before you finalize your decision. Before my brother died he made me promise him something." 

"What?" 

"That I would take care of you."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It did not take someone of Mycroft Holmes's intellect to deduce Joan Watson's state of mind at this moment. As much as he cared for his brother, right now he was angry at him leaving this...complication to the Doctor's recovery behind. Doctor Watson was fragile. Sherlock may not believe it but Mycroft knew better. 

Looking at her now, it was hard to believe that this was the proud woman who had been in his office after their meeting with Kitty Riley. Her cold anger and logic had been surprising. The normally bright blue eyes were more like ice rather than summer sky and it had sent a shiver down his spine. The facts, calmly and meticulously laid out by Joan, had impressed Mycroft. Oh, how he had wanted to tell her the truth but it was for her protection. His apology to her as she had left was for more than she knew. 

He could see the red in the whites of her eyes, the long blond hair pulled carelessly back in an attempt at proffessionalism, her blouse and skirt haphazardly pulled on after her examination and it screamed at him. Her pain and silence in the car was deafening. 

The elder Holmes had been watching her since that day and it had surprised him how far she had fallen. It had been his and his brother's belief that, like most people, she would have been able to move on. Sherlock had been clear in his attempts to manipulate the woman into believing the worst. He had tried to push her away at the end but they should have known that she was loyal to a fault and that Sherlock's last actions with her had had more than one unforeseen consequence. Love.

He saw his parents in her. Her devotion and intelligence was very much like their mother while her common sense and practicality was their father. It was no small wonder that she had stuck by them.

Joan stared out the window, small fists clenched and tears running down her face. She had clearly long ago learned to be silent in pain, whether it was to protect herself from her drunkard father and sister as a child or as the lone female officer in her unit trying to prove herself, Mycroft could only guess. 

He knew his presence wasn't welcome but it was necessary. His PA (Celeste, this time) had been attempting to put out the fires as a result of the doctor's medical findings going public. It was proving difficult which was saying something. His well placed agent, Morstan, had failed in her duty to keep the findings private. An unknown leak had occurred and it had become public knowledge. The tabloids had already begun printing. Magnussen was the first to take advantage of this latest twist in the Holmes familial affairs. His motivations weren't clear but it was benign...for now.

His main concern was how Joan would react to this latest development. He had warned his brother that attachments would be his downfall. He just didn't think that they would have been the downfall of those surrounding him. 

The vibration of his phone caused him to stop his contemplations. Pulling it out, he read Celeste's text and cursed. The leak had been identified and contained but it was only a matter of time before Watson found out. It was best for her to find out in private before deciding her next move. 

He heard the faint buzz of Joan's phone. Predictably, she ignored it. It continued to buzz, almost like a bee vying for her attention and just as annoying. Joan grimaced and pulled it out of her purse, glancing at the screen before rolling her eyes and shoving it back into her bag. 

The trip to 221 Baker Street was silent and once they arrived Joan didn't wait for the door to be opened for her. She walked out without a word and stormed up the stairs. Eyeing the straightened knocker, she turned and glared at Mycroft.

"You know that continuously fixing this shows you have a likely case of OCD." She snapped. 

The young blond set the knocker back at an angle and walked in without shutting the door, knowing that the elder Holmes would follow. 

The flat looked very different from this morning's surveillance and Mycroft was impressed at his PA's quick work. It was now clean and habitable, safe for a pregnant woman. The kitchen table had been cleared of the chemistry set and all dangerous chemicals had been removed, the refrigerator stocked and cleaned as well as the laundry had been done. 

Joan had taken one look and stiffened before placing an unsuccessful mask of indifference on. "Real subtle, Mycroft."

Mycroft repressed a sigh of frustration. He had known it was going to take a while for Watson to forgive him...if ever. He just hoped for the child's sake that she would. 

"What do you want?" Joan lowered herself into her chair and kicked off her shoes.

She watched him and it was remarkable how similar to Sherlock she was then, picking up his habits like a second nature. Blue eyes carefully tracked his movements and patiently waited while he took his seat on the couch. 

"Why are you so interested in me now?" She didn't wait for him to reply. "It's not like I'm a target anymore. Not since-" She turned away to compose herself. "You want me to keep it, don't you?" 

Mycroft felt as if a cord was winding around his chest, tightening with Joan's cold words.

"Yes."

"Why?" She pinned him with her gaze. "Is it to try and assuage your guilt? Where was your concern and care when he was alive? Where was it when you were feeding him to the damn sharks?"

A deep breath in. "I re-live that day every night, Mycroft! If I had just been faster or smarter then maybe he wouldn't have jumped." Her shoulders slumped in defeat and he wanted to reach out to her.

"I'm not strong enough to do this." She whispered.

Mycroft smiled. "That is where you are wrong, Doctor Watson. I know you are strong enough. After all, your time with my brother has already gifted you with the ability to care for immature, curly-haired geniuses and I anticipate my niece or nephew to be a similar handful." 

A mix of a sob and a laugh and he knew that he had said the right thing. Perhaps this would be a good thing for the doctor. Even though she was bent, she wasn't broken and that could be fixed.

Another buzz from Watson's phone drew her attention from Mycroft. His own phone buzzed with an email from his PA. She included copies of the articles related to the leak as well as a chart detailing public opinions. Negative opinions were quickly being traced for security threats. Celeste had already raised the security surrounding the doctor and made her follow-up appointment for tomorrow even going so far as to rearrange his Joint Intelligence Committee meeting to later in the afternoon in case he was attending the appointment with Dr. Watson. 

 

Joan scrolled through her emails and was puzzled by the sheer amount. Notifications of comments to her blog, her Facebook and her twitter account were the majority of them. Logging on to her blog, she quickly saw what the commotion was about. There were the usual condolences about Sherlock but the latest comments had her gripping her phone hard enough for the plastic to creak. It was Sherlock all over again. It had to be. Mycroft or someone from his team had told the press to try and manipulate her.

"It wasn't my team that compromised your privacy."

"Why don't I believe you?" Joan muttered as she continued to read through the comments, most supportive but some hurtful. There were only two people that had known about her results that quickly and Sarah wouldn't have done this. Mary was the odd one out, the new employee. Easily forgettable, quiet, has access to everything...

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..." Joan glared at civil servant. "I think you should leave."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! I hope this chapter is ok! What do you guys want to happen? C'mon! Reviews keep me going! Ideas are my cookies!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mycroft's PA, Estelle this week, was pulling out the latest reports to hand to her boss. The main concern was Shining Dawn, a pro-death cult that was gaining strength. Their belief was that the human species was a stain on the earth and that it needed to be culled. They had agents analyzing the last bomb that had been discovered from the group and the investigation was going smoothly but slowly. 

Second on her professional agenda was the nuclear trade agreement in Saudi Arabia. There were multiple arguments for and against the knowledge of nuclear power being traded for guaranteed oil prices for the next twenty years. It was of vital importance that things go smoothly...either way. Estelle sighed as she pulled up her next document. Doctor Watson.

Estelle was impressed at the doctor's resourcefulness and observational skills with regards to the MI-5 officers tailing her but it was frustrating that certain things were...unknown. 

In the past month, the doctor had carefully and seamlessly orchestrated her move from private practice to working at University College Hospital A&E. She had also moved to a small two bedroom flat on Euston street. 

Apparently, anger had been more than enough motivation for her to move on. Mr. Holmes had been...upset was an understatement, apoplectic with anger was closer to accurate. He was extremely worried about the doctor working in a busy casualty. Estelle understood Dr. Watson's need to keep busy. Working in the A&E was an adrenaline rush as close to her time with Sherlock as she could substitute. 

Unfortunately, it had the tendency to concern the elder Holmes. Her cold, aloof behavior had had the unexpected consequence of influencing Mr. Holmes's behavior. He had started becoming harsh, unfeeling and every bit of his moniker, The Ice Man, going so far as not showing any reaction or care when an asset was lost due to an agent's mishandling of the case. The asset had been a 16 year old boy and the task of informing the grieving family had been left to her. 

"Estelle! Where is the file from our CIA liaison?"

Mycroft walked into her small office, glare in place, holding a file on Michael Monroe. Their information was two years out of date as the movement had originated in the US.

"It's on your desk, sir." 

He grunted in reply and left quickly, slamming his door behind him. Glancing at the clock, Estelle saw that Watson should have been home from her shift at UC Hospital. It was time to do something.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joan stretched and pulled on her pajama pants, her King's college shirt and bathrobe. She was about to head to the sitting room when she heard a small sound. It was barely a shuffle of cloth but Joan's keen senses picked it up. She could feel her heart speed up, adrenaline sharpening her senses to where very little noise was deafening.

Tiptoeing around her bed, Watson carefully opened her bedside drawer and pulled out her gun. It's weight was a secure feeling in her hands. She clicked off the safety as her door opened and twisted, aiming.

"Seriously?" 

Anthea, Cecilia, whatever the fuck her name was stood in her doorway, eyebrow raised in curiosity and slight amusement. Joan dropped her arm and the air left her in a whoosh.

"Dr. Watson." She greeted.

Joan glared and clicked on the safety on her sig and shoved it back into her drawer, shutting it with a bang causing her lamp to rattle.

"I could have shot you!" Watson snapped.

It was strange seeing the PA without her blackberry. Joan raised an arm and ushered her to the living room where the brunette sat primly, giving the doctor an intense look.

"You know? You people must love showing off your walking through walls skills." Shaking her head, she sat across from her and leaned back in her armchair. 

"I would offer you tea since you made yourself at home but, as you see, I was about to go to bed." 

The PA pursed her lips in irritation at the cool tone but otherwise remained unaffected. "I think it was time we had a talk." 

"So, instead of spying we'll actually have a conversation?" 

She rolled her eyes and stiffened. "Yes, doctor. As you know, the surveillance is for your protection. Like Hydra, in Greek mythology, even though the head of the serpent was severed, two more can grow in it's place. It's the same with Moriarty's criminal network and you are a prime target due to your association with both Holmes brothers."

She gave a tight smile. "Though, I must say, you are certainly creating a challenge for our MI-5 officers and improving their training skills."

Joan snorted and crossed her arms over her chest but couldn't help the small smile that crept up. Sherlock had taught her well.

"What I came here to discuss was my employer." 

A tendril of worry crept in at the other woman's expression of concern. She was angry at the man but didn't want him to get hurt.

"What's wrong? Is he sick?" A thousand scenarios ran through her mind, everything from a cold to a heart attack, not even including the high risks associated with his job.

In her concern, she failed to notice the interested sparkle in the assistant's eyes.

"No. He's not sick, per se, but he isn't himself." She leaned back and crossed her legs, making Joan nervous.

"I came here to discuss a few things. I promise you that it was not our people that leaked your pregnancy though we were too slow in discovering it to stop it. On that count, we are guilty." 

Joan's mouth tightened. God help her, she believed her. "It still doesn't excuse what he did to Sherlock. I know why he did it but the ends do not always justify the means." 

Anthea's (or whatever she's calling herself this week) eyes went cold. "Contrary to popular belief, he is not a god. He is a man, just as flawed as any other. He is under enormous pressure. Perhaps even more so with the decisions he has to make daily and the rift between the two of you adds to that pressure."

A deep breath. "You lost your best friend but Mr. Holmes lost his brother. Do you not realize the enormous guilt he has over the situation?"

When it was put that way, it started to hit closer to home. Joan closed her eyes and took a slow breath, about to start but the brunette wasn't done.

"He wanted to talk with you, keep you safe and even be a part of your life. Especially, now that he has a niece or nephew on the way. It is a part of his brother, a part of his family and you pushed him away. He may act cold and distant, that sentiment and love are beneath him but if you got to know him then you'd see that he is not like that. It's a front to protect himself and others and he's acting the part more than ever since that day."

Joan could see the sincerity behind the woman's words but it was still hard to forgive him. The lines around her mouth tightened. "Okay." 

She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Just...just set up a meeting." 

The smile from her guest almost made her wonder if she'd made a deal with the devil. 

Throwing a hand up, Joan halted her departure. "Somewhere normal for once, yeah?"

The grin widened. "Of course, doctor. Thank you for your time." 

After she left, Watson wondered just what she had agreed to.

 

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was another week before she heard anything from Mycroft's people. She had just finished setting a shoulder and was walking to the cafeteria when she saw him. 

Mycroft Holmes was standing just to the left of the exit in the waiting room looking distinctly uncomfortable and gripping his umbrella with unnatural tightness. 

The temptation to turn back around was overwhelming but when Joan looked closer she could see the tension in the man's frame, lines around his mouth and eyes and the slight tremor in his hands. Only her skills as a doctor and her time with Sherlock made seeing those things possible. 

She wondered if anyone had talked with him about how he was doing. She'd had support from Molly, NSY and her co-workers. It would have been awkward for Mycroft to get support from his PA and other than her she'd never seen him speak with anyone else. 

Watson knew he'd seen her but he was waiting for her to make the first move. Adjusting her lab coat, she walked over attempting to look friendly but from the expression on the elder Holmes's face, she wasn't that successful. 

"Mycroft, did you need to see a doctor?" 

He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon at her question. At least Joan could add dislike of check-ups to her knowledge of Mycroft. 

"No, doctor. Apparently, a lunch appointment was in my calendar and this was the location." 

Joan inwardly laughed at the idea of Mycroft's PA putting one over him.

"Well, it must have been a typo." 

"Clearly." Mycroft growled. Watson felt bad for the other woman considering his reaction.

"Well, since you're here, did you want to get a bite to eat?" 

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly in surprise and the small quirk of his lips made Joan smile.

"Don't think I don't know that this was meddling, pure and simple." 

His glare had a glint of warmth and Watson led him to the doctor's lounge to grab her coat. She had a feeling that the elder Holmes wouldn't appreciate cafeteria food. 

"I think she was concerned and I can see why." Turning, she could see closer the details that had been hidden in the poor waiting room light. He'd lost at least five pounds, dark circles surrounded his eyes and the way he held himself suggested extreme muscle tension.

"I'm sorry." Watson told him and Mycroft's shoulders loosened slightly.

Joan turned to her locker and opened it. The sight that met her eyes was strange to say the least. A bouquet of orange lilies with a single black rose in the center was in the space next to her coat. No note. 

As she moved forward to pick up the flowers, Mycroft moved ahead of her, gently pushing her away. Lifting the bouquet, he looked it over with a frown.

"I know Halloween is in a few weeks but this is just silly." Watson's heart sped up at the look of concern from Mycroft. They were just flowers. 

"Do you know what the meaning of certain flowers is?" His voice was quiet as he turned the bouquet slowly in his gloved hand, his eyes roving over the paper for something that Joan didn't understand.

Racking her brain, she couldn't think of anything but the meanings behind roses. "Not really."

He gently touched the orange lilies, his fingers feather-like in their scrutiny. "Orange lilies can have multiple meanings. Virginity, passion but in this case I think the meaning is extreme hatred and dislike." 

Watson tensed, eyebrows drawn in skepticism. "I think that's a bit extreme, don't you think?" After all, the fall season was here. Oranges, yellows, browns and blacks were everywhere in decorations. 

Mycroft tilted the flowers and pulled the single rose out. It's color was startling. What was more surprising was that it wasn't plastic. It was a true black rose. No hints of the petals being dyed or colored. "This is why I think the latter meaning. This is a Turkish Halfeta rose. Extremely rare and an endangered species. It blooms bright red in the summer but turns such a dark crimson, it appears black. To see one in bloom is a once in a lifetime circumstance. It is also believed to signify death." 

His cool grey eyes slid up to meet hers and the intensity made a shiver of fear crawl down her spine. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to deliver this message to you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Mycroft looked up from the blooms he was inspecting, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Joan was eyeing him skeptically and a touch suspicious. 

"I think most of London still thinks of me in a negative light thanks to Kitty Riley. So if the flowers are a message, and I'm not agreeing that they are, then they could be from anyone. I get a lot of hate mail." Joan's eyes darkened. "Until Sherlock's name is cleared by Scotland Yard publicly, I doubt I'm going to get a lot of peace."

The elder Holmes brother put the flowers back where he had picked them from, a twinge of guilt twisting his stomach. It was one thing to see the collateral damage caused by his and Sherlock's actions in a report but face to face, it was quite another. 

"Come on. We'll just grab something from the cafeteria. I don't feel up to going to the café across the street."

Watson turned and walked out of the lounge, smoothing the fly aways in her hair with a shaking hand. While she was distracted, he quickly sent off a message to his PA about the situation. He needed more data. This was not a simple hate message. The effort involved with acquiring that specific rose was immense. 

Joan led him through the myriad of corridors to the lower levels of the hospital, her entire body signaled her discomfort at the situation. She grabbed a tray and Mycroft cringed at the abysmal selection of what was considered food under the warmers. He watched in horror as Joan ordered her food of chips and gravy and balked at Joan's urging of him to do the same. 

Joan smiled deviously as Mycroft picked at the concoction on his plate. After ten minutes of prodding the stuff, he couldn't pretend any longer. "This is atrocious."

Joan laughed quietly. "It's not too bad. The chips are the safest thing on the menu. That's why I get them." She proceeded to swirl a chip in the brown liquid and pop it into her mouth. "I've had worse when I'm on the night shift." 

"You don't have to work here. Sherlock left everything to you. There's more than enough for you to retire in comfort." The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop himself. Joan's answering glare was enough to dispel that hope. 

"I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I need to work." She cleaned her face with the napkin and sighed. "It was hard, at first, but working makes it easier. It's when it's quiet that it gets hard again." Sighing, Joan frowned to pull her more vulnerable emotions into check. "I was lucky to get a position here after that fiasco with my records getting out." 

As she fiddled with the serviette, Mycroft couldn't help but admire her. Strong, independent and forgiving. Her only fault was her stubbornness at accepting help. She was irritatingly resourceful at avoiding him much like Sherlock was. This meeting was clearly on her terms even though it hadn't quite gone to plan.

"If you must work...here, then I need to increase your security. Clearly it is subpar if someone is able to access your belongings in the doctor's lounge." 

"Flowers will not send me running into the arms of your minions, especially when there isn't any proof they aren't an innocent Halloween gesture. I can take care of myself." She smiled tightly. "I think your experience in your type of work has made you a little paranoid, Mycroft." 

"Maybe it hasn't made me paranoid enough." He countered.

"I won't have you putting any more cameras in my flat."

He barely restrained rolling his eyes. It had been irritating that every time he had set up the security of Dr. Watson's home, she returned and dismantled the entire set-up within minutes. He was curious about how she had become so adept in discovering some of the Security Service's most advanced equipment. 

The most embarrassing instance had been when she had gone outside her flat carrying two cups of tea in disposable cups and simply walked up to his stationed agents, handed them the hot drinks, scolded them on not wearing warm enough attire for the weather and told them to go home before they caught their death or come inside of they were going to continue their ridiculous surveillance. She then proceeded to tell them all the ways they went wrong in their surveillance techniques. 

Pushing the plate aside, he leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. "I am wondering how you are able to find all of my attempts to keep you safe." 

Joan's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, yes."

Watson's answering smile was an impressive impersonation of a certain Cheshire cat. "Every girl's gotta have secrets. I'm sure you understand. Though the microphone in the lightbulb almost threw me for a loop." 

"And I am rather curious as to where it is you go every Thursday night." Mycroft practically growled.

"Secrets, Mycroft." Her eyebrows drew together. Clearly surprised at her success at evading his attempts at information gathering. It really was infuriating but he was patient. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know." 

She started drumming her fingers on the table, blue eyes darting nervously. "So...this was...interesting." 

"How are you feeling?" Throwing one's opponent off-track was the best way to ensure an accurate reading. He watched as Joan's eyes flicked to her mobile, to her pager and even to the entrance to the cafeteria, searching for avenues of escape. She was about to reply when a tall well built man in scrubs jogged up to her. 

Mycroft frowned when the man put his hand on her shoulder, the easy familiarity made him uncomfortable. He could smell cologne, not a cheap brand either, freshly applied. A small dot of toothpaste on his cheek, clearly wanted to be fresh. His smile when he looked down at Joan was very friendly, more than what one colleague would bestow on another. Slight stiffness in his gait, clearly started working out recently. His hair was freshly combed even though it had not required it. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting your lunch, Joan, but we're about to get a shooting victim. A police officer. Paramedics weren't specific." On the contrary, this..he eyed the ID tag...Dr. Shawn Phillips was not sorry at all. He had been hoping for an excuse to be near Joan, his breathing accelerated when she returned his smile and started to stand.

"I'll be there in a minute, Shawn."

He was disappointed but nodded and left them, Joan's eyes following him out of the room. Mycroft's stomach twisted, the sensation of bands tightening around his chest made his heart start to beat quicker. He made a note to look closer into Dr. Phillips' records. For Dr. Watson's safety, of course.

"I'll show you out." Joan waited while he stood and guided him back the way they came. 

Once they came to the A & E doors, she paused, nervousness flaring again. "It was...interesting to see you again. Maybe next time without the paranoia, yeah?" 

At least she was agreeing to a next time. He nodded and moved away as she went her own way. He was halfway through the door when he spotted Dr. Phillips wrap an arm around Joan's waist as he guided her to the ambulance bay. Joan didn't shrug him off but she didn't lean into his touch either, simply accepting the contact. The twisting sensation returned with a vengeance. 

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Watson shrugged off Shawn's hands as the ambulance backed to the double doors, snapping on her gloves and pulling on her gown as the doors opened. Paramedics immediately pulled out the stretcher. A flash of curly black hair and mocha skin and Joan recognized her patient. Sally Donovan. Today just wasn't her day.

 

"Patient is a thirty-four year old female, gunshot wound to the right flank. Pulse is 90, BP 120/80, blood glucose 90, resps 20, temp is 37 degrees Celsius, O2 sats stable at 95. We've started a line and put up a liter of saline." 

Joan let the paramedics words wash over her, eyes darting to the wrapped gauze on Donovan's ribs. Blood was there but she looked stable and pretty damn mad. They moved down the hall in a careful team, Joan at her patient's side.

"Ok, we'll need an x-Ray, CBC, chem seven and hemocrit." 

Sally's head snapped up, her features paling at hearing Watson's voice. "Hello, Ms. Donovan." 

She couldn't help smiling at her terrified expression. "I'm just going to have a look. How are you feeling?"

The woman on the stretcher gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Watson put on her stethoscope and listened to Donovan's lungs and heart. All four quadrants clear, no crackles. Steady heart beat. Donovan shied away from her touch as she reached for the gauze covering the wound. 

"Two of dilaudid, Patac." Watson snapped. She moved away and behind the screen as the portable x-ray was wheeled in and Donovan's shirt was cut off the rest of the way so a gown could be put on. 

By the time the results were back, Donovan's pain meds had kicked in. The lines of discomfort had eased from her face and the shock had cleared, leaving her calm but still slightly apprehensive. The tech handed her the film and Watson held it up so it was visible to the room.

"Lungs are clear, no bullet or bone fragmentation, looks like the bullet ricocheted off the 7th rib." She smiled down at her patient. "You got very lucky." 

"Crit is 14.2."

"Thank you, Patac." Turning to Shawn, she waved him off. "I've got this."

"I'll need a suture kit, saline and lidocaine." She situated herself on a rolling stool, kit in a tray next to her. She started to cut and remove the gauze to get a better look at the damage.

"I want a different doctor." 

Joan raised her eyebrow, looking up from her work. It had been the first words the other woman had spoken. Clearly, the dilaudid had done it's job. In place of the fear and pain was the more familiar Sally Donovan. Confident, angry, shrewd to a point. 

"I'm not going to stitch my initials into you if that's what you're thinking." 

Donovan's eyes focused on her, looking her over, a sneer curling her lips. "So, I see it's true then? He got you up the duff before he offed himself." 

The cold words stung. It took a lot of effort to remain calm and continue to do her job, ignoring the cruel jibe. She started cleaning the wound. It was an ugly gash.

"I don't even know how it happened considering all your denials, Watson."

Joan grit her teeth. "I'm sure you must know how babies are made." She hissed, thinking of all the times Sherlock had inferred about her affair with Anderson.

She was about to drape and prepare for stitching when Donovan moved away quickly, gasping. "He told you! He told you about us?" 

Joan's jaw dropped, shock making her fingers numb. Fortunately, she recovered before her lapse was seen. Sally and Sherlock? "No." Joan replied hesitantly. "You just did." 

"Well...it was a long time ago and it was only once. Knew he was a freak even then when he couldn't handle the possibility of a relationship." She growled.

Joan ground her teeth and took a small amount of pleasure at Donovan's hissing as she injected the lidocaine. "You clearly have a bad habit of picking men who don't want to commit to you, Sally. Anderson, Sherlock." Pausing for effect. "How is Anderson's wife, anyway? I heard she's on her third baby." She started threading the silk through the wound, carefully stitching up the belligerent woman.

"No, it was his problem! At least he didn't jump off a building after having sex with me." 

It was like Donovan had stabbed her in the heart, the sub-cutaneous stitches Watson had finished started to blur as angry tears burned her eyes. She took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes on her shoulder, continuing to finish her job.

Once the wound was neatly stitched, Watson stood. "Keep them clean and dry and in seven days your GP can remove them. I'm prescribing Keflex since you're allergic to penicillin. I'd invest in a Kevlar vest to prevent something like this from happening again. There are armed and specially trained officers. Let them do their job and stop being so stupid." 

She was about to leave but couldn't bring herself to do it yet. Leaving like this would just let Donovan think she'd won. "I didn't think anyone could be that much of a bitch all of the time. Did you ever stop to wonder about the possibility that he liked you? Maybe that he was afraid and that was why he constantly harped on you? Little boys tend to pull the pigtails of girls they like." 

Donovan looked like she'd been slapped. Horrified realization dawning on her. Sometimes it took an outsider to show you what you missed. A light shining in the dark to lead the way. She needed to see that he was human. "Even through the entire thing, he respected you enough to know that you would come to the logical conclusion of his alleged guilt. Not the correct conclusion but the one that most good detectives would have come to." 

Spinning on her heel, Watson left while she held on to the upper hand. Her calm attitude was rapidly crumbling. She made it halfway down the hall before she had to stop, her heart feeling like it was breaking all over again. Talking about him-damn, even thinking about him just twisted the knife in her heart deeper. 

Donovan's words buzzed around her head. Joan pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, feeling the cold sweat on her upper lip. She had to force herself to take deep breaths, swallowing the bile threatening to come up. The thought of Sherlock with Donovan hurt less than she thought it would have but what did sting was the fact that he had opened himself up...made himself vulnerable to her and she had acted like it was nothing. That he had just been a typical man. He was anything but typical. 

Joan pressed her other hand to her abdomen, where a tiny life was growing. She wondered if Sherlock would have approved, if he would have grown even closer to her because of it or if he'd have left out of fear. Maybe distance himself or push her and the baby away. Or would he have been overbearing and want to know everything about everything? Obsessively compile data about his...no, their developing child? He should be here! 

"Doctor?" Joan wiped her face and closed her eyes, taking a cleansing breath.

"Doctor? I was wondering if you've heard anything about Sergeant Donovan?" 

A hand gripped her arm, turning her gently to see Greg's pale face which quickly turned to surprise when he realized who he was talking to. 

"Joan? How are you?" He asked carefully, his eyes darting up and down her form taking in her, most likely, splotched face and small hint of a bump, hidden as it was under her loose scrubs. 

"I'm fine, Greg."

"Like hell you are but you will be." He reached over and pulled her into a gruff hug, like a brother would give to a sister. Joan held him back, fisting the material to keep him close.

"I know. I know." He whispered into her hair. Joan closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of security for a moment before the sounds of the A & E reached her, reminding her that she was on duty. She pulled back, flushing slightly at her display of emotion but Greg wouldn't have any of it. He held onto her upper arms, smiling. 

"Thank you." 

Greg shrugged and let go, still eyeing her. 

"Sally's back to her usual charming self. Stitched her up and she'll be ready to go in an hour or two."

"I'll bet she liked that." He said ruefully.

Joan smiled grimly. "Something like that." 

They walked to Exam 3 where Donovan was, a peaceful silence settled between them. She missed Greg. Lestrade had always been the calming voice of reason, the pillar of reason for them all. 

"How is the investigation going?" Though she said it quietly, it was like a cannon had exploded. Lestrade stopped suddenly, looking uncomfortable.

Joan scowled. "You know damn well he was innocent. He didn't kill Moriarty and that man on the roof was not Richard Brook. I know you did DNA testing and even Anderson, incompetent fool that he is, can see from the bullet's trajectory that it was suicide. Release the statement."

"We only got the results today." 

"Then release the statement." 

"It's not that simple, Joan." 

Joan hated politics. The need to have everything tied up neatly before the public could be made aware of certain facts. "I don't know if you realize but this is affecting me in more ways than one. Not to mention that the real Richard Brook's parents deserve to know that the boy they buried wasn't their son. That their son is still missing and wasn't the lunatic that ate a bullet on that roof."

Greg looked at her carefully, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean it's affecting you in more ways than one? Is there something you need to tell me?" 

Trust Lestrade to pick up on that. "It's nothing. Just...forget it." 

Lestrade practically growled, big brother instincts kicking in. "Has someone been threatening you?"

She thought back to Mycroft's words, the comments to her blog and mail that had just been thrown out unopened since Sherlock's death. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just saying it's hard, you know?"

He still looked suspicious but dropped the subject at the obvious dismissal. 

"When you do release the statement..." Joan smiled like a shark, a cruel idea taking place. "...I want Sally Donovan to do it. I think she's more than earned the right to make amends for her meddling, don't you think?"

Greg shook his head, chuckling at the thought of Sally having to be the one to recant everything she'd ever said. "Consider it done."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the lack of update and small chapter. Things have been hectic with familial obligations. I do hope to update quicker and the next chapter will delve more into the negative aspects. Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Tishbing

Chapter Five

Mycroft Holmes finished his report but the memory of seeing Joan recently tugged his attention away. Their last meeting had ended amicably but he could see the strain on her. The poor attempt to mask her emotions that the military had instilled in her only went so far and to Mycroft, she had a certain fragility about her despite her strength. 

The pregnancy had started to take a toll on her. It took a remarkable amount of restraint to not interfere further in her doings as he watched her working double shifts in the busy hustle of the A&E. She had kept her word though and had accepted meeting with him every other day for a cup of tea or a meal and it was always cordial but still stilted. 

The sight of her meeting with Dr. Phillips was infuriating, to say the least. The man was clearly a manipulator of women and, though Joan had yet to respond with more than a friendly smile, it was unacceptable. A report had cleared him of suspicion of the dubious threat two weeks ago but had revealed a long list of women in similar positions to Watson's. Alone and pregnant from another and vulnerable. 

It was a simple task of...no. He refused to interfere. Joan was not some naive child to be coddled. 

Sighing, Mycroft's thoughts wandered to his brother. He had arranged a dead drop a week ago to tell him of the latest development with the doctor. He should be checking in...looking at his wristwatch, he was unsurprised when his desk phone rang. 

"Brother mine." He answered. The sniff of disdain could be easily heard over the line.

"You never contact me unless it is urgent. What is it?"

The voice was rough, as if Sherlock had forgotten how to speak and was just relearning the ability. The decision of informing his younger brother of his child had been a difficult one but necessary. As it was, he had given up so much to keep those he cared for safe.

Mycroft had been frantic at the possibility of not being able to stop Watson from terminating the pregnancy. Memories of his youth at university with Giselle had made him move faster. She had been an exchange pupil from Nice. Her easy smile and quick wit had won him over in their political science class. 

"There are...certain developments that you need to be aware of concerning your doctor."

A sharp inhale. "If she has been harmed due to your incompetence, brother..."

Trust Sherlock to go to the worst deduction. "She is unharmed. However-"

"Then anything else you have to tell me is irrelevant."

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock-"

"I cannot risk distraction. This is already taking far longer than was estimated." He could hear the frustrated huff on the line. "This is the one request I made before accepting this assignment. Keep her safe and happy."

The line disconnected before Mycroft could respond and he had to restrain the urge to slam the receiver in frustration. His attempts to assist his brother were rarely received well. The pain from Giselle was still a barely healed wound that he wouldn't wish on his brother. 

Their separation had been painful and bitter at the end. Her decision to terminate an unexpected pregnancy that had been his had caused him to shut off and become every bit the "Ice Man" she had accused him of. They had argued and fought over her decision and it had broken their relationship beyond repair.

When she had told him, he had been elated but concerned. They were still in school, young and naive but he knew that he was up to the challenge. She had asked for space and Mycroft had allowed it. By the time she had returned it had been too late. He had barely had time to come to terms with being a father before the chance had been ripped away. Giselle had left back to France and Mycroft had turned cold and distant, cynical in every aspect. 

A knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. It opened, revealing his PA. Quickly schooling his features into a neutral expression, he reached out, accepting the report on Syrian troop movements. 

"Sir, I scheduled an early lunch if you wanted to attend Dr. Watson's sonogram at 11. Apparently, Dr. Phillips attempted to attend but was refused and Dr. Watson is going alone." 

His eyes skimmed the report, committing the pertinent facts to memory while the woman stood patiently near his desk. He didn't miss the added subtext that she had added unnecessarily to encourage his involvement to support the doctor nor did he not notice her clear interest in pairing them together. 

"Thank you." 

Anthea smiled, a flash of bright teeth and it only served to remind him why he had hired her.

The next two hours went by quickly and Mycroft had to admit to a small amount of anxiety and excitement at seeing the doctor again. 

He was checking the time, noticing that Joan was late when he saw her walking in. Now that it was mid-October, Joan had reached 17 weeks and was not very successful at disguising her pregnancy any longer. Even though he could see the lines of stress marring her face she still seemed to have a glow about her. 

Today she had a light blue knit maternity shirt with black slacks and her lab coat. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and he could see she was uncomfortable. Her posture was defensive, head down, shoulders hunched as she hurried to check in at the reception desk. 

He watched as she turned and was pleasantly surprised when her eyes spotted him. A small smile quirked the corners of her mouth and she shook her head good-naturedly as she made her way to sit next to him.

"Why am I not surprised." She told him as she sat, her hand reaching back to rub her hip. 

He simply raised an eyebrow and smiled. Watson snorted. "Isn't there supposed to be an election you're fixing or a war you're supposed to start?" 

Mycroft turned in his seat and fixed her with an intense look, hoping to get her attention. Joan's eyes met his and she swallowed nervously. He reached out and grabbed her hands in his, holding tighter as she reflexively pulled away. "What could be more important, at this moment, than seeing my nephew or niece for the first time. To be there for you as you see your child and support you during this trying time."

A corner of her mouth quirked in a small smile and she nodded in understanding, relaxing her hands and allowing Mycroft to release her on his terms.

"Besides," Mycroft sniffed. "Elections aren't until next year." 

Joan huffed a small laugh and leaned back in her seat.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the room until they were called. He was careful to walk behind Joan as they moved to the room and waited for her to give him a verbal cue to allow him to attend this appointment.

He wasn't disappointed when she rolled her eyes and told him that he may as well get in because he'll just find out anyway. Mycroft couldn't help but chuckle at the doctor. So few people talked to him like that. Like he was a person, an equal.

Joan climbed up to the bed and laid back, her fingers fluttering at the hem of her shirt while Mycroft crossed his legs and struggled with his own nerves. 

"Right, now Miss Watson, my name is Keeley and I'll be performing your sonogram." 

Mycroft allowed his gaze to take in the technician assigned to Dr. Watson's care and he couldn't quite disguise his dissatisfaction. The girl was-a sharp tap on his arm from Joan stopped him from his thoughts and left him scowling but silent and Joan smirked and turned back to the technician.

"And this must be dad!" Keeley smiled and Joan's face became brittle and still.

Clearing his throat, Mycroft corrected her. "No. I am, however, the child's uncle and I am Doctor Watson's support at present." 

The woman flushed in embarrassment and nodded. "Sorry. If you'll lift up your shirt and lower your trousers a bit, I can start some measurements."

Joan lifted her shirt and Mycroft had to stifle his surprise. He had seen her growing but it had never been more evident than it was now. The swell of her abdomen was pronounced. His hand itched to touch her and feel the proof of it, of life growing.

Keeley turned and smiled, pouring gel on Joan's belly while she hissed at the cold temperature and then the transducer wand was placed. A rapid whooshing filled the room. "There's baby's heartbeat. Nice and strong."

Joan smiled and Mycroft couldn't help but smile back

"My own guided tour of my uterus." Joan snorted and nudged Mycroft, pointing at the screen above the tech's head.

"And there's the little one!" With one hand, the tech took measurements while the other continuously maneuvered the wand over Joan's belly. Mycroft couldn't help the gasp that left him at the sight. He could see the head, a nose, tiny fingers and toes that looked perfect. 

He was rarely jealous of his brother but right now was one of those occasions. He watched the monitor saving every detail. He wondered if his child would have looked the same during a sonogram had Giselle chosen a different path. 

Joan was staring at the screen, silent and still save for tears falling. Her face showed every single feeling and right now it was a terrible mix of anguish and excitement, pain and awe, and it was frustrating to see her go through this. It should have been an happy moment but the pain of her believing she was alone dragged her down. He resolved to make it as painless as possible from this moment forward.

"Would you like to know the gender? I can tell you right now." Keeley hovered uncertainly, her smile clearly painted on in an attempt at a cheerful disposition. Ever ready, Mycroft pulled out an handkerchief and Joan accepted it, dabbing her eyes.

"Um..sure." Joan straightened her shoulders and squared her jaw.

"It's a boy!" Keeley pointed out the identifying features and Joan gave a watery smile. Mycroft was going to have a nephew. He wondered if the child would take after the doctor or be more like his brother. He hoped that the child would inherit the doctor's patience at the minimum. Holmes genes tended to be rather formidable.

"Thank you." Watson's voice was rough but steady. 

The tech printed a few images and left, allowing Joan a moment of privacy to collect herself. Her eyes were averted and she turned away from Mycroft, clearly embarrassed at her lack of control. 

"You shouldn't be ashamed, Joan. It's perfectly understandable." 

"It's these stupid hormones." 

He knew that wasn't the case but allowed the lie. 

"Thank you for being here." Joan murmured. It was so quiet, he had hardly heard her. 

"Of course." 

Joan pulled her top down and quickly stood up. "I'd better get back to work." Pulling on her white coat, she hesitated at the sonogram images. She held them, biting her lip and looked at them.

"I don't know if you want one but...here." She pressed the picture in his hand and left before he could stop her. It was tempting to follow but she needed time to process and he could respect that. 

He tucked the picture away and was leaving when his phone went off reminding him of his other responsibilities. Sighing, Mycroft left the room and pulled on the mask of indifference he had mastered over the years, the only hint of being human residing in his wallet. The small grainy image of Dr. Watson's and Sherlock's child.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Things have been hectic!

Chapter Six

Watson stuffed the images from the tech in her lab coat, intending to go back to work. She'd reached the A&E reception when her phone started to vibrate in her pocket. Sighing, Joan pulled it out and glanced at the screen seeing a text and several missed calls from Lestrade. 

The lunchtime news theme started on one of the waiting room telly's and distracted Joan. 

>"And breaking news from the press room at New Scotland Yard. Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan is leading a press release on the case of Sherlock Holmes and Richard Brook. As most of you will remember...."

Joan couldn't listen anymore. It felt as if the eyes of the entire waiting room were on her. The screen flashed a candid picture of her and sherlock in that stupid deerstalker and a hush fell on the room. The news ticker scrolled along the bottom of the screen as Sally Donovan stepped up to the podium. The words 'Sherlock Holmes-Innocent!' scrolled over and over. 

It was like someone had turned the sound up suddenly but it was a roar that was unintelligible. Joan felt her breakfast trying to make an appearance and she moved to the receptionist quickly telling her that she wasn't feeling well and needed the next few days off. The woman's jaw was practically on the floor as she nodded in understanding.

Joan made a fast stop at her locker, grabbed her rucksack and made her way out into the busy London streets, needing to lay low until the excitement wore down. She didn't need reporters or fans finding her, questioning her or giving her pity at the fact that she had been right all along. 

xXxooooooxXx

Mycroft restrained himself from throwing something when he received the report upon his return to the office. One task! This team was assigned one simple task and they were scrambling like first year agents! The surprise announcement from NSY was too soon and yet, not soon enough. He pulled up his surveillance on University College Hospital and could see reporters flooding the scene for a glimpse of Dr. Watson.

Anthea had upped the status to level 2 active for Joan but Morstan and Jacobs couldn't locate her. She'd simply disappeared. Her phone was not traceable. Most likely shut off. He would kill Sherlock for giving her these tips at avoiding him.

Her skills rivaled his brother's at avoidance of his usual methods and it was very concerning. The subtle threat from mere weeks ago was in the forefront of his mind. It was possible that she had been taken but the more likely scenario was that she was simply attempting to gain some distance from the veritable circus that was unfolding.

A visit to the Detective Inspector seemed prudent. After all, it wouldn't do for the local constabulary to forget their place. There had been no advance warning of this announcement and it put his family in danger. 

xXxooooooooooxXx

It was late evening before Joan arrived home, fingers aching from her session at Madam Bussard's. It had felt amazing, focusing on something that was beautiful and had a future rather than the pain of the past. Oh, the pain came up but rather than cry about it, she played. The notes that Sherlock's old Stradivarius sang were the balm to soothe her ragged soul. It was nowhere near Sherlock's skill but she was getting better as time wore on. 

It was her secret. The one thing Mycroft and the world had no clue about it. It was where she would disappear to one night a week for her lesson. She had called her teacher and she had simply understood. Her hideout where she could feel. It was better than any form of therapy Ella had provided. She was beginning to understand why Sherlock had played all hours in their old flat. 

It had been one of the few things she had taken from 221B. She figured this gift was something she could pass on and try to fill her new home with music. There had been many a night when she had woken in a sweat from her nightmares of blood and sand, only to be soothed back into a calm sleep by notes traveling up the stairs unasked by her friend. 

She pulled off the shaggy brown wig and jacket, wincing as the strap on her bag jarred her bad shoulder. Her flat was dark and there was no hint of reporters. Joan smiled, knowing Mycroft had something to do with that. 

Pulling out her mobile and flicking the power button, she walked up to the front steps and quickly let herself in. Multiple beeps signified a large number of voicemails, missed calls and texts. Joan rolled her eyes and scrolled through the notices, bypassing her notices for her cameras. She rolled her eyes. Of course Mycroft had sent someone into her flat. 

His attempts at surveillance were impressive but the people who had been recruited by Sherlock operated a bit shadier and better than what Mycroft had. His cameras that turned up in her flat had been repurposed into her cameras. The best that the Secret Service had to offer was a great incentive for the techies. She kept a few, gave them the rest, and they set hers up to a different account so she can ensure her privacy. 

Joan tossed her jacket on her settee and moved through her living room, eyes on her phone, to the bedroom, shooting off a quick text to Mycroft to assure him she was fine and at home.

Perhaps she had become complacent these past few months but she wasn't prepared for the sight that met her eyes. Joan looked up to grab her bathrobe for a shower and dropped her phone in shock. Her bedroom was destroyed. Red was splashed all over her walls, the substance still dripping. Her bed had been slashed and torn beyond recognition. Black roses and red poppies strewn over the mess. Her clothes had been ripped from her cupboards and had, similarly, been doused in the red liquid that, sickeningly, looked like blood.

It was what was on the wall that caused Joan to stumble. 'YOU NEVER DESERVED HIM!' in dripping red and underneath, a picture with a large butcher knife stabbed through it. 

Joan shivered, feeling suddenly cold and moved towards the grainy picture. Her breathing had become shallow and fast the closer she got. Joan's stomach clenched to try and empty itself at the smell in her room, the iron tang. It was definitely blood on her walls.

She swallowed against a flood of saliva and moved close, squinting in the darkened room. The picture was of her and Sherlock but it definitely wasn't a public picture like those that had been on the news. It was of that night. Their last night together. Joan lost the battle and turned and threw up, the acid burning her throat as her dinner made an appearance.

The picture was blurry but the images were clear enough. There was Joan, on her back, head thrown back with Sherlock on top of her, kissing the side of her neck while she held on with her arms around his shoulders and her legs gripping his hips, both of them naked. Her face was where the knife had been stabbed through, attaching the picture to the wall.

Someone had been watching them and that someone was very angry. Mycroft's words of warning that she had brushed off as nothing moved to the forefront of her mind.

Her phone started beeping for her attention and Joan moved from her crouch but a creak in the floorboard stopped her. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood up and the feeling of being watched caused Joan to freeze. Someone was right behind her!

The fight or flight instinct warred and Joan struck out, spinning from her crouch with a punch. The was a surprised oompf and a flash of black before Joan jumped over the large body blocking her way. She scrambled,heart pounding in panic and nearly made it to the door before she was seized around the middle. 

The man grunted and swung her like a rag doll and Joan's head slammed against the doorframe. Kicking out, she missed and was rewarded by another slam into the doorframe. This time stars popped in front of her eyes. Dazed, Joan thrust her elbow back and the grip loosened enough to get out of his grip and scramble away but there was another intruder blocking her path. 

Blood seeped into her eyes from the last encounter and Joan blinked, trying to clear her vision. The second assailant raised a gun at her and she raised her hands to show surrender, breathing hard. 

The man in front was wearing all black, his face obscured by a knit ski mask. Joan heard the other man coming up behind her and tensed.

"Well well well, look who decided to show up early." A gruff voice from the first attacker. She could feel the air shift around her as he moved closer and Joan's heart beat a violent tattoo against her ribs as the adrenalin continued to flow. The gun from the second man was the only thing keeping her in check.

Clenching her fists in impotent rage, Joan remained still as he swept around her, raising a finger to the cut on her forehead, barely brushing the wound.

Joan trembled and pressed her lips together, shaking with suppressed energy. She heard a small laugh from him and had only a moment before blinding pain erupted from her left cheek, knocking her to the ground. The power from that punch had been enormous and she hadn't been ready, her focus having been on the gun.

"You fuckin idiot! We were told not to hurt her, yet." 

"Bitch deserved it. She probably broke my ribs with that elbow." 

Joan remained on the floor dazed, elbows holding her up and pulling her legs under her. The gun was still pointed at her but the focus was on the guy who hit her. She knew she was slow but she had to try. Surging up, she went for the gun, a loud bang from the weapon going off accidentally gave her the opportunity to knock it out of his hand. She brought up her knee to his groin and he went down but her arms were suddenly grabbed from behind.

Joan bucked and thrashed against the hold, only succeeding in him tightening his grip. The second man curled inwards, cursing and catching his breath.

"You are very lucky that we can't kill you." He growled. Joan pulled against the unrelenting grip and bared her teeth at him. Her phone went off again with another call and the man holding her tightening his fists on her arms, no doubt causing bruises. She knew that, by now, the older Holmes knew where she was and she hoped he was sending someone. 

The man on the floor grunted, steeling himself and stood up, reaching into the pocket near his knee on his black cargo trousers. He pulled out a syringe and up capped it. The sight of hit caused Joan to refresh her struggles, fighting and bucking like a wild woman.

"Hold her still, Cal!" He snapped and moved to her side. The one holding her pulled her arms back at an awkward angle, causing her to cry out as her shoulder was strained, and kicked her legs out, causing her to fall to her knees and forward. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he pressed himself against her to stop her violent movements.

"Next time we'll have some fun." He whispered his promise.

Her head was wrenched to the side and the other stabbed the needle into her neck. Burning pain and the fight suddenly fled Joan as the drug took effect. The pattern on the carpet swum and the pain from her injuries faded. She felt like she was drunk. 

The men turned her over and Joan raised her head weakly but she only got it an inch off the floor before it fell back with a dull thunk. Her vision shimmered and faded as she watched through slitted eyes as the two men left laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I'd love to hear ideas and get some plot bunnies from those reading! I am struggling! Ideas for psycho stalkers, funny living with new roommates ideas, pregnancy stories, anything is welcome!

Chapter Seven

Mycroft's eyes narrowed dangerously at DI Lestrade. "I believe that MI-5 and 6 had made their positions rather clear on the subject of Sherlock Holmes' innocence. If and when it was proven, either way, we were to have been informed when a public announcement was to be made." 

"We're not under your jurisdiction. We work for the people of London. I don't answer to Secret Services or you." Lestrade puffed out his chest and refused to cower under Mycroft's glare. 

Mycroft could see the guilt that the man felt. Sherlock's "suicide" had affected more than just Joan. Lestrade had come under scrutiny and had been put on probation, Donovan as well but her protests had worked in her favor. The urge to prove Sherlock innocent had been a driving force for Lestrade to show that he knew the people he worked with, that Sherlock was someone to be trusted and, in turn, that he could be trusted. 

It was frustrating how most people only saw the immediate impact of their actions and not the larger picture. NSY had no idea of the implications of their actions and how they would affect others. While it would improve the public's opinion of NSY in the fact that they hadn't inadvertently allowed a criminal to commit crimes under their noses, it would put Sherlock's assignment at risk. The whole point was low profile now that he had been declared dead but now all new attention was being focused on him again. 

Another factor was Joan and the subtle threat at her work. Someone, possibly one of Moriarty's henchmen, had it in for the woman and this reveal may tip the scales against her. A lot had been riding on the criminals being able to breathe easy since Sherlock had been declared the scapegoat. Agencies had redirected their focus away from them and onto his brother and now the attention was drawn back to them.

This put both parties at risk. It had been the Holmes brothers' hope that complacency would make identifying and taking down Moriarty's web easier. That job was now about to get a lot harder now that their guard was going to be going back up. What had been estimated at about a year's worth of work was stretching to two, possibly three with this added complication.

"Do you realize what you have done? Dr. Watson has been threatened and this may incense them and has put her in harm's way."

Lestrade frowned, leaning forward on his desk. "What are you talking about? Joan hasn't said anything about being threatened." He threw up his hands. "In fact, she asked for us to release the statement as soon as possible!"

Mycroft's lips turned down as he frowned in displeasure. Joan didn't realize just how much danger she was in at all times since her association with his brother had begun. Now that Sherlock was no longer at her side, she was even more vulnerable. There were risks of revenge killings, torture for information related to past cases, and even taking her hostage to target Mycroft. 

"Have you ever known her to ask for help or believe that she was truly in danger. Watson has always believed she could handle any challenge." Just then, he felt his phone vibrate. Holding up a finger to silence the detective inspector, Mycroft pulled out his phone. He sighed with relief at seeing the message from Joan.

"I will be a moment." He stared pointedly at Lestrade and the man finally got the hint and vacated his office. Once alone, he quickly dialed Watson's number, only getting voicemail after ringing. It showed that her mobile was on but she wasn't answering. Considering she had texted him moments ago, it was unlikely that she would ignore his attempts to contact her especially after initiating the contact herself.

Mycroft stepped out of the office, seeing his aid and Lestrade talking. She looked up and immediately understood. With a curt nod, Anthea left, fingers flying on her blackberry. Lestrade frowned and moved closer to Mycroft. 

"I'm having a team sent to Dr. Watson's residence. She has been out of contact all day and, considering the events of today, I am concerned for her safety." It didn't follow her normal patterns of behavior and that had his heart speeding up as he was very worried. This going off the grid habit of hers needed to stop. She needed to allow him to keep his promise and keep her safe. 

"I can send some officers as well but, if Joan is just washing her hair or sleeping, she's gonna kill you. Holmes or no, she will." Lestrade warned. 

"I would rather know she is in a position to do so than run the risk of her being in danger." Mycroft voiced.

Lestrade nodded and waved to Sally Donovan at her desk. "Oi! We need to get a team out to Joan Watson's new flat on Euston. She's not responding and has been missing since earlier today." Sally nodded and set about calling in officers. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the length of time it was taking for the Yard to get things moving. This is why he preferred dealing with his own people. Anthea returned, eyes never leaving her blackberry.

"MI-5 has a team in place. There are no signs of movement in the flat but infrared shows one person inside, likely unconscious on the floor in the living room." She looked up to Mycroft and Lestrade, eyes wide and afraid. "They're waiting, sir." 

Mycroft's stomach tightened. "Tell them to proceed and get an ambulance with Dr. Thomlinson sent out." 

Lestrade gasped in shock and shouted at Donovan to get moving. Mycroft left with Anthea for his car that was waiting. They arrived at the same time as Lestrade in his patrol car. Mycroft wasted no time, heading up the steps and into the building. 

Mycroft didn't need his agents to tell him what had happened. It was obvious. The front room was in chaos. His eyes immediately were drawn to the figure on the floor and he could feel his blood boil at the sight. Blood matted her hair at the hairline, the entire left side of her face was swollen and discolored. There were bruises littering her arms and she wasn't moving.

A blonde agent looked horrified at the level of damage to the pregnant woman as she checked her over, bandaging her head with the small field kit. Mycroft recognized her as one of the team regularly assigned to Watson's safety. 

"Status, Morstan!" He barked and the agent snapped to attention.

"She has multiple contusions, possible broken eye socket, concussion and loss of consciousness for unknown reasons. She has other injuries but will need to go to hospital, sir." 

Mycroft wanted nothing more than to kneel by her side, assure himself that she was alive and confirm what he was being told but he couldn't risk showing weakness. A clattering on the stairs and Dr. Thomlinson entered, flush faced and focused, along with paramedics in bright green jumpsuits carrying a stretcher. 

Thomlinson immediately went his patient, reaching out a hand impatiently for his equipment. Fingers flying, the doctor set to work stabilizing Joan. The paramedics carefully lifted her and Mycroft felt a sick swooping in his stomach at the frail sight. 

"We'll be at University College Hospital." Paramedics reported and quickly left, Thomlinson directing them. 

With the distraction of Joan Watson gone, Mycroft focused his attention to the flat. He could see where she had gone down, the slight rumple of the carpet, he could see flecks of blood all over the floor, on the doorframe to her bedroom where she had been knocked against. He moved forward and made it to her bedroom and couldn't stop his reaction. 

The entire room was destroyed, blood painting the walls and coating destroyed clothing on the floor and a sick message with a lewd picture stabbed into the wall. He could smell sickly sweet scent slowly overcoming the iron tang of blood coming from the flowers on the destroyed bed. Poppies and black roses.

"My god!" Lestrade cursed and gaped at the scene while Mycroft viewed it with a critical eye. The height of the writing was too tall for a woman but the message was personal. Specific. This was no simple case of revenge for Sherlock taking down criminals or one of Moriarty's henchmen. It was revenge against Watson for being with Sherlock. It was very personal.

The picture showed the motive. Simple jealousy but extreme hatred. Clearly, this person had been watching for a while. The angle and quality of the picture showed that this person was a professional at what she did. Her presence had even gone unnoticed by both Holmes men. It was definitely a female. This level of hatred was too high for a man despite the evidence showing that it was a male who wrote the message. 

He moved around the room, careful to not disturb the evidence. Spotting her phone on the floor, he picked it up using a pocket kerchief. This must have been where she first noticed the break-in. She had dropped her phone in shock. The screen had cracked but it was still functional. He handed the phone off to Anthea.

He could see by the disturbed pattern of the flowers that had been arranged on the bed that the first confrontation had been here, near the wall. She had surprised the intruder and ran before being caught and thrown into the wall where her head hit the doorframe. She got away again, judging by the blood spatter but she stopped. 

A second intruder then. A small spray on the floor to his right showed that she had been hit while stationary. The indents on the rug showed she went down there but not how. With how deeply unconscious she was it was likely either a severe blow which had been delivered or she had been sedated. Both were equally dangerous.

A smudge in the blood spray showed a clear partial boot print. Military, size ten. This was no ordinary message being sent. Someone had outsourced professionals.

Mycroft clenched his fists and his lips pressed into a thin line. Enough was enough. It was time for Watson to accept his assistance to whatever level he decreed necessary. 

"What the hell is all of this?" Donovan moved around while Anderson took pictures, Agents glaring at them at every turn. Most of the team that had arrived had, at one time or another, been assigned to Joan and they were very angry. They blamed NSY but they also blamed themselves for not being quick enough to prevent this occurance. Joan was very likable and most of the agents had a fair idea of how much the young woman meant to Mycroft. 

"I should hope that even New Scotland Yard could figure out the implications of this scene." He snapped. 

"What's with the flowers? I get that someone went spare about Joan and Sherlock but I don't get it." Anderson chimed in, camera hanging from a lanyard as he gaped around the scene. 

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was why he despised legwork. Having to deal with people like Anderson who fumbled along in life and slowed everything and everyone else down. No wonder his brother despised the weasel.

"I am quite sure that you should be able to infer the meaning behind them. After all, you are wearing a poppy on your shirt. The black roses signify extreme hatred and death and the poppy is..." He waited and Lestrade swallowed, looking sick.

"It's meant for the fallen soldier. We wear poppies to honor fallen British soldiers. This threat was catered to Joan meaning someone is planning to kill her." Donovan supplied.

"And I believe that this person feels Dr. Watson is responsible for not preventing Sherlock's death especially, now that Sherlock Holmes has been proven innocent on all counts. There is also extreme anger and jealousy that Joan got close to Sherlock and this person felt that they should have been in her place. Perhaps there is a delusion that they could have prevented the events had they been in her position." His eyes narrowed on Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson. "And since your announcement to the public without clearance, the suspect base is quite large. I have quite a task of cleaning this up." He turned to the nearest Agent.

"Mathers, I expect a full report and list within the hour." He snapped and left, Anthea following.

Once ensconced in the privacy of his car, Mycroft let loose a deep breath he had been holding in. The sight of Joan injured had reminded Mycroft of the dangers his family faced. "Anthea, I want Joan transferred to my private residence, full security and medical team. She is now being placed into full protective custody. I don't care what she says. If needs be I will lock her in a cell if that's what it takes to keep her safe."

Anthea raised an eyebrow in surprise at Mycroft's outburst but she agreed. He was her boss and what he said, goes. 

"I want the people who did this found and I want the person behind this. There will not be a hole deep enough or a corner dark enough for them to hide in." He growled.

A surprised gasp from Anthea made Mycroft look up. She was looking at Joan's mobile, eyes wide. "I think Ms Watson may have made our task of identifying her attackers that much more simple." She flipped the phone screen towards him and the whole thing was recorded in bright color and sound. 

Watching Joan fight back was impressive but it was also very painful to watch. "Where was this feed from?" 

Anthea quickly sent a copy of both the video and audio to herself and him. "They're our equipment."

"What?"

Anthea smiled. "I have found out how Miss Watson has been able bypass all of our attempts to obtain surveillance in her home. It's actually quite ingenious. Her system has a motion sensor that activates the cameras and mics about a minute after anyone enters each room. That way, when we run a standard sweep of bugs, they're not active so they aren't detected but by the time we're placing our own, the system sees us. Any time an agent saw one, they assumed it was placed by us and they left it since it was our equipment in the first place. Someone set up a private secure account for Watson and she uses it to check her home. An alarm is sent to her when the system activates." She shook her head in appreciation and Mycroft had to grudgingly feel impressed. He refused to underestimate the good doctor again.

"And she, most likely, ignored the alarm because she had assumed it had been our team checking in on her rather than her attackers." Anthea finished and had placed Watson's phone in her pocket, fingers typing furiously as she worked to get the video sent to the correct places and find the identities of the hired men.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Joan felt dizzy and sick, almost like she had a hangover but a hundred times worse. She couldn't open her left eye and the entire side of her face hurt. Her left arm was in a sling strapped tight to her body. Her arms and shoulder were painful too but her face was the worst. 

A steady beeping to her right made her take stock of her surroundings. She expected to see a hospital room but this definitely wasn't any hospital she was aware of. The equipment was of hospital grade. An IV pump, monitor for O2, heart rate and resps, and a black doctor's bag containing medications, syringes, a stethoscope, sphygmomanometer, reflex hammer, penlight, and various other things laid on a metal tray. 

The room was spacious. Enough for an upscale hotel. She was in a large bed, propped up with pillows and covered with the softest sheets she had ever felt. The room had a calming feel to it, cream colored walls, pale tan carpeting, a fireplace directly across from her with a television set above it. The was a small settee and comfortable looking chair set up in front with a coffee table. The furniture was of high quality. There was another chair to her left, the mate to the set in front of the fireplace, and the furniture was a pale beechwood. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling and it was set to a low light.

Joan didn't know where she was, her last memory had been being attacked and drugged. Had they kidnapped her as well? Joan started to panic and the monitor next to her started to beep faster. She quickly pulled off the lines attached to her. It was then that she noticed two sets of elastic bands with sensors on her abdomen with another monitor, this one to her left. She was dressed in a loose pair of blue scrubs and grip socks. 

Joan eyed the readings on the other monitor before detaching herself. The IV was trickier. Her left arm was securely attached to her and she didn't have the best coordination but she managed to pull the line, keeping a thumb pressed over the small injury. 

She could hear several men's voices outside her room and Joan didn't recognize them in the haze of her mind. Her head pounded and it hurt. Grimacing, a fresh wave of pain surged through her face and it helped her to wake up more. She didn't know where she was but she had to try and get out. 

Sitting up, her vision blackened at the edges and she had to close her eyes for a minute. 

"What are you doing, Miss Watson!?!" A set of hands started to steady her swaying and tried pushing her down but she didn't know who this was. She pushed and shoved back, hampered by one arm still in the sling that she hadn't been able to remove.

"I need help in here!" The man in front of her shouted and Joan heard an oomph as her foot connected with someone.

"It's alright. You're safe. I work for Mr. Holmes." 

Joan went limp. "What?" 

Opening her eyes, the man in front of her straightened his white coat and shirt. He was probably in his mid-fifties if the salt and pepper colored hair was anything to go by with kind but serious green eyes. 

"Where am I?" She asked but the doctor was more preoccupied with reattaching her to the multitude of machines. As he lifted her top to attach the elastic bands, a young woman with jet black hair but built like a sumo wrestler came in. 

"Ming Na, can you reattach Miss Watson and start another IV while I check her over?" The woman simply grunted her assent and went to work. Joan was too dazed and too uncomfortable to put up too much of a protest.

"Where am I? And who are you?" Joan grimaced as her shoulder was jostled by Ming Na as she put back on the fetal monitors. She'd probably torn the muscle. 

"My name is Dr. John Thomlinson. We'll talk in just a minute after we've repaired what you've taken off." He replied, busy taking her blood pressure. He hmmed and frowned at the result then moved on to test her pupil responses, listened to her chest and asked standard neurological exam questions. 

The two of them moved in tandem keeping Watson busy to where she had no choice but to let them do their work. "And how is your pain level?" 

"I'm fine." She snapped. She wanted answers not to answer questions.

Thomlinson frowned, his wrinkles prominent and his mouth turned down. "Your blood pressure is dangerously high. There's two reasons for that. Either you're in significant pain, which considering your injuries, I wouldn't be surprised, or you're suffering from preeclampsia which is a possibility." He reached down and placed a hand on her arm to try and comfort her. "Right now, your body is extremely stressed and to minimize that stress for you and the baby, I need your help." 

Joan sighed. "Yes. I'm in pain." 

She had barely uttered the words before miss sumo wrestler handed a loaded syringe over which the doctor quickly administered into the new line. The relief was immediate. She felt lighter and more relaxed as she sagged against the pillows.

The doctor eyed the monitors and Ming Na checked her blood pressure again, giving a satisfied nod. 

"Where am I?" Joan asked again.

Thomlinson turned to the nurse and told her something before focusing his attention on his patient.

"You are in Mr. Holmes' home. He felt that a more private environment would aid in your recovery and ease stress." He went to the metal table and picked up a chart, making a note and signing the paper.

She was in Mycroft's house? It was one thing to be getting along with the man but to be living with him? She'd always seen him as an abstract thought, not quite human despite seeing him struggle. Joan didn't know if she was comfortable with staying here.

"When can I go...?" She trailed off, not sure if she really wanted to return to her home. The break-in and subsequent attack had left her feeling violated. 

"You suffered quite a trauma. You have a small fracture in your zygomatic arch and cheekbone, concussion, multiple contusions, a four centimeter cut that required sutures at the hairline, torn ligaments and strained muscles with your left shoulder and there was some minor spotting that was noted. The baby is fine but is reacting to the stresses your body is going through. I'm recommending complete bed rest for now." His tone brooked no argument. 

"Here?" Joan asked, incredulous.

"Yes, here." A voice to her left replied. Joan turned to see a very serious Mycroft Holmes. His auburn hair was slightly disheveled and he wasn't wearing his suit jacket. It was a strange sight seeing the normally composed man looking more casual than he ever had in their association. He had his sleeves rolled up to his forearms and a smudge of ink on his nose. He'd clearly been working and it wasn't going well, whatever it was.

He eyed the doctor. "If you wouldn't mind, John, I'd like a word with your patient alone." 

The way Mycroft phrased it made her feel like she was in trouble, like a parent fixing a child's mistakes. Joan watched as Thomlinson left, a feeling of foreboding invading her at being alone with the British government.

Mycroft looked tired. She wondered how long it had been since the man had slept. "Are you ok?" She asked.

Mycroft laughed humourlessly, shaking his head at her. "I do think that is what I'm supposed to ask." He sighed and his eyes flicked over her, assessing her and his lips thinned in concern.

"The people who did this haven't been found yet but they have been identified. This is due, in part, to your surveillance video that we acquired off your mobile. Calvin Phillips and Guillermo Gomez. Both mercenaries for hire. Low quality and cheap. They take small assignments mostly, usually just roughing up those that don't pay a gambling debt but sometimes they do more specific tasks. Once they're located, then we can find out who hired them. It is only a matter of time before they're found."

He ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath, waiting for her response. She nodded but stopped fast as it made her head hurt.

"I'm sorry I didn't take you seriously, Mycroft." She shifted on the mattress, uncomfortable at the situation.

"So...um, I'll be fine going back to my flat as soon as I can get someone to clean it and replace everything. Thank you for letting me stay here while that gets taken care of." 

Mycroft's features darkened momentarily before he looked confused, then exasperated. "As of right now, you're being placed in protective custody. You're not to leave here until I have deemed that the threat has been neutralized and you are to follow Dr. Thomlinson's orders in regards to your health." 

"What-?"

"No arguments, Joan. I made a promise and it is one I intend to keep. This threat was very specific." 

"I can't stay here, Mycroft." Joan protested. "I have a job and rent. I have responsibilities. Once I've healed, I have to get back to my life. I won't have someone force me into hiding. I'll be more careful. I won't be caught out again." 

Mycroft shook his head and frowned. "No. You could have been killed tonight. You could have lost the baby because of those men. Right now, you need to think about your safety and that of your child. There is more to think about than just your safety right now. Your decisions affect more than just yourself." 

Joan's lips thinned and she turned away from the elder Holmes. She knew he was right but she didn't think she could stand staying still. 

Mycroft sighed and she felt the bed dip as he sat next to her. "I think it's time you knew something. Do you know the full story of why my brother jumped off that roof?" 

It was like he had twisted a knife in her heart, bringing that up. Joan shook her head.

"There were three snipers. One for Mrs. Hudson, one for Gregory Lestrade and one for-"

"Me." Joan finished. 

"Their orders were to kill all of you if he didn't do as he was told. He gave everything to ensure your safety. Don't let his sacrifice have been in vain."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been going nuts on what to put in this chapter. My co-conspirator has been subjected to several versions and I'm still not 100% sure it's a good chapter so I will leave the possibilities up to you, the reader. What do you want to see happen? Fun scenarios or ideas are desperately wanted!

Chapter Eight

Mycroft looked down at the scene, disgust and frustration warring at the sight. The two men had been discovered by MI-5 agents after Mycroft had uncovered enough evidence to determine the location of their hideout. 

Unfortunately, Calvin Phillips and Guillermo Gomez were in no condition to talk. Their employer had gotten to them first and she had clearly been extremely displeased. Both men were dead. Guillermo had been the first, throat slit from behind, quick and clean while Calvin had been shot in the forehead with a .22. It was methodical and very professional. The bodies had been carefully arranged and the scene painstakingly cleaned to where the only evidence available was the bullet in Calvin Phillip's head, the evidence of the type of knife used and the likely height of the murderer, 5"6'. Not tall but it verified that it was likely a woman.

He put out feelers with his agents in the hopes of finding a likely suspect but reports were suspiciously silent. He called for his car. This problem was rapidly becoming a major headache for him. Even though Joan had acquiesced to all of the restrictions for the past week placed on her by the physician assigned to her and his rules, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before she rebelled. 

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the elder Holmes left the sealed scene at the semi-detached and made his way home. For all that he was gifted in the art of deduction, his skills lay more in predicting future events based on patterns of evidence rather than evaluating criminal past acts. That was more his brother's skill. 

What he could determine was that this unknown enemy was dangerous and Watson's death was highly likely. This could not be allowed to happen. He..cared greatly for her. So few people attempted to converse with him, accepting the nature of his job and respecting his privacy while accepting him as a person.

His car pulled up to the curb and he stepped out, fatigue making his steps heavy. It was rather late but he was unsurprised to see several lights on. The past several days, Joan had taken to perusing the library to ease her boredom. Confinement did not suit her but, Mycroft mused, neither did death. He would rather she be unhappy and alive than happy and dead. 

He had taken the liberty of limiting access to her blog after finding that the lewd picture had been posted with the same threat. The IP address had been a false trail leading to the computer of a child who was barely out of primary school. The woman doing this was taunting them, attempting to torture Watson and, by default, him. 

The feel of people inside his home was nothing new to Holmes, having always had someone working tending the kitchen, cleaning, et cetera but having a guest was something different. The fact that it was Joan Watson was definitely different. He felt more at peace with her near.

He made to walk past the library near his study to give her her privacy but curiosity made him go in just to check. There, on one of the plush armchairs was Joan, asleep, legs tucked under her and a leather tome resting on her swollen abdomen. It was a rather domestic and endearing scene had it not been for the injuries marring her.

The bruising on her face was a vivid contrast to the blond hair that was loose around her head. She was healing but very slowly. The sling helping her shoulder to rest was skewed and Mycroft knew she was going to regret falling asleep in this position. He almost stepped back to summon Ming Na but he quickly changed his mind. It felt...private.

He moved closer, noticing how at peace she seemed, her breathing even and calm. The pale blue pajamas and dressing gown his PA had obtained only served to make her seem more vulnerable. The thin top clung to each curve, accentuating her pregnancy while the bathrobe was overly large and seemed to dwarf the woman. He almost wondered if Anthea had done it on purpose to instill a protective streak. 

He pulled the book away from her, ensuring he was quiet and placed a marker and put it on the small table next to her chair. Joan shifted and sighed, her eyelids fluttering and opening despite how careful he'd been. She smiled at him in greeting, a tired one but a pleased one that made his heart speed up slightly. 

But then, just as quickly, the familiar frown took over. "What are you doing up at-" She glanced at the grandfather clock over his shoulder. "3am?" 

Mycroft felt rather caught out, like a child that had been caught doing something they shouldn't be. "Work kept me rather late." He raised a brow. "But shouldn't you be resting at this time as well?" Mycroft admonished.

Joan rolled her eyes, wincing as she shifted to get up from her curled position. "Couldn't sleep." Grimacing, the petit blonde finally stood, wrapping her dressing tighter around her. "I'm not used to doing nothing." She mumbled under her breath, knowing that he would hear her.

Mycroft moved closer, giving her a wry look. "It may feel like nothing but you are doing quite a bit. You are healing from your injuries and growing another human being." 

Joan paced, adjusting the sling on her left and frowning. "I know. It's just-" She sat next to him and sighed. "-I miss work and my friends." She sat next to him.

"Come on, I think it's time for both of us to head to bed." He attempted to usher her towards the stairs but she refused to budge, eyeing him critically.

"When was the last time you ate? Or even slept properly?" 

Thinking back, Mycroft honestly couldn't remember. He hesitated and Joan seized on it. "I want to talk to you anyway. We can talk while you eat something." 

He followed meekly into the spotless and rarely used kitchen. It was more of an appendix than a well used room in his home. The rare instances it was used was for a spot of tea or toast in the mornings. Joan walked up to the refrigerator and peered in, the corners of her lips turning down. "What is it with Holmeses and refrigerators? They're meant to store food." 

She sighed and reached in with her good arm, pulling out some brown eggs, butter and milk. "Guess it's eggs and toast since you use yours as a decorative piece."

"I could call for Sophia." He didn't like the thought of her working.

Joan fixed him with a glare that made him sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island bar. "You are not calling that poor woman in the middle of the night. I can manage. Why don't you have anything in there anyway? I've had food brought to me since I've been here."

"I tend to be out and don't really spend a lot of time here." Mycroft watched her struggle with the sling to handle the simple task of preparing the food and he could see when she was about to simply remove the device. 

"I'm sure I can manage much better with two hands." He slid up and took the tools from her and was pleased when she admitted defeat and took his abandoned seat.

"Any news on the two men who broke into my flat?" He didn't fail to notice the phrasing she used, neglecting to bring up her attack. Tipping the eggs into the skillet, he thought about how to answer her. If he told her they were no longer a threat, which they weren't considering they were dead, she would demand to leave. If he lied, then she may discover the truth and would leave as well. Both actions weren't acceptable options but then, there was the original instigator still out there that could affect her decision.

The difficulty with that was that there wasn't enough to go on to take this person down and, as a result, Joan's enforced imprisonment was without an end in sight. He had originally planned on her remaining with him for a few days but it was rapidly looking more like a longtime solution to prevent him from being stretched too thin. 

"We are still trying to resolve the threat." He said carefully as he scooped the eggs onto two plates, quickly adding buttered toast and handing a plate to Joan.

Joan's face fell and he could see the disappointment. He didn't appreciate the foreign feeling of guilt that wormed it's way into his chest. "What I meant to say is that we found the two assailants but have been unsuccessful at finding their benefactor. This person is very determined and very dangerous."

Joan nodded, a strand of blond hair hair falling over her good eye and Mycroft didn't understand the urge he had to tuck that bit of hair behind her ear, to try and make Joan happy again. Was this what Sherlock felt for her? Was this twisting sensation around his heart what he had felt when he had seen her in danger and it had forced him to leave her to keep her safe? 

Over the past few days, he had indulged this feeling when he would come home late, simply watching her as she slept and recovered. Joan was so strong but so very fragile. 

"I understand." 

She leaned back rubbing her stomach and Mycroft could see the frustration in her eyes even as she attempted to hide it. Joan Watson was a poor actress. It was a rare and beautiful thing, even though he knew it annoyed her, to be able to read someone so easily.

He saw Ming Na about to enter and gave a subtle shake of his head to let her know they were fine, focusing on Joan who was picking at the food. 

"I understand. I just-oh!" Joan dropped her fork, gasping and her hand holding her bump. Mycroft stopped eating, worry and fear grasping at him. 

"What? What is it?" He was about to summon the nurse when he saw her face. She was smiling, the stress and disappointment melting away.

"Oh, no. I'm fine. It was-I just felt the baby kick." She laughed shakily and rubbed her bump. "I guess the little guy wanted to give an opinion." 

His hand itched to touch to see if he could feel as well, but mostly to ensure that she was fine. 

"You need to eat, Mycroft." 

He was not interested in the food right now. 

"Look, I was wondering about my job and my friends. I haven't heard from anyone nor have I been able to contact them and I need to find out if I even still have a job." She pushed away the uneaten food and sighed. 

"I know that Sean is probably worried about me. Not to mention Mrs. Hudson and Greg Lestrade." 

Mycroft twitched at the name of her fellow doctor that had taken an interest in her. Fortunately, Joan wasn't looking and missed his lapse of control. It would have made things so much simpler if he was behind everything. As it was, he would have to be creative to remove Dr. Phillips from the picture without her knowledge. Joan was at a very fragile time and it was best to surround her with trustworthy individuals. 

Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on her good hand. "I haven't even been to see Mrs. Hudson since I moved out. What kind of friend am I?" 

Taking her hand, Mycroft held it in between his two. "You are a friend who is going through a difficult time. I'm confident that Martha Hudson is willing to forgive you as long as you allow her to fuss over you and feed you up." 

Joan looked up and smiled, her blue eyes bright. "Thank you, Mycroft. You're a good friend." 

It was as if he'd been punched. He knew he was Joan's friend on some level. Had he hoped for more? Without even realizing it? Did he want more? 

He watched as the blond collected the plates, frowning at his half eaten food and placed them in the sink with a yawn. He knew the Sherlock and Joan had only had one night. Was it enough to constitute a relationship? Was it enough to label her off-limits even though Joan didn't know the truth? Would she have continued to be with Sherlock had he not had to resort to the extreme solution of staging his suicide? He couldn't even begin to guess at possible outcomes. Watson had surprised him at every turn in regards to how she responded and reacted with people. 

He felt guilty at the knowledge that, yes, he did want more with Joan than a passing friendship. He allowed Joan the illusion of caring for him as she shuffled him up the stairs and to his room with stern instructions to rest. He made sure to text the nurse to ensure that Joan was following her own advice and laid down, wondering about possibilities.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first post to archive of our own! This story is going to heavily rely on reader's input to help me manipulate the characters. It's based off of a kink meme prompt on BBC Sherlock. So please review and let me know what you think.


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